


Telling Tales

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Flipping Coins [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke tells a tale to her merry band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling Tales

**Author's Note:**

> First Act, the night after they rescue Feynriel from the slavers. Hawke's just revealed that she's a deadeye shot.

“Isabela!” Aedan Hawke’s warm voice rang out over the clamor from the common room of the Hanged Man as she slipped out of the hall and into Varric’s room. “What bawdy tales have you been telling to make my sister’s eyes like saucers?” She loomed over the pirate with an arched brow. 

Isabela put her hands up in surrender. “Don’t blame me, sweet thing. Varric’s the one telling tales just now.”

The dwarf smirked. “Pure as the driven snow, Hawke, I swear. I was just getting my notes straight after our adventure with the slavers. We were admiring the throwing skills you displayed. Isabela mentioned she used a throwing knife to kill a raider on her first boarding and …the topic drifted.”

“Ah.” Hawke’s crooked smile didn’t reach her eyes tonight, Fenris noted. “Well, by all means, continue.” She nodded to him, as she slipped into the seat next to him at the end of the table, back against the wall.

Varric shrugged. “All over but the recriminations.” He pointed them out with a blunt finger as he marked off their skill. “Anders and Merrill had darkspawn about a year ago. Aveline’s was bandits in Denerim, right after she joined the army. Fenris’ was Qunari a few years ago, I got some Carta dregs and Isabela had her Rivani raiders at the ripe age of…”

“Old enough.” Isabel raised a trim eyebrow at the dwarf and he grinned.

Hawke lifted her pint of cider in tribute. “My merry band of able hands.”

“What about you, Hawke?” Anders asked. “You joined Cailan’s Army, right?”

“To protect and defend, it’s true.” Bethany smiled sadly. 

Hawke twitched her shoulder, causing her gloved hand to brush against Fenris’ gauntlet. “I was free and 21, same as half of Ferelden. No tale worth telling, really.”

Aveline frowned at that. “Ostagar was your first fight, Hawke? You seemed better trained than that when we first met.”

“Well, Father saw to it that Carver and I were knowledgeable enough.”

Bethany added, “I remember Father would occasionally hire mercenaries passing through to give Carver pointers.” 

Hawke nodded. “For me as well, though Father knew daggers from his mercenary days. Traps I learned from hunting, locks I picked up from a barman and,” She grinned “one of the Chantry sisters.” 

“Poison?” Isabela purred and Hawke winked back. It was a tool they were both fond of. “Father as well.”

“Talented man.” 

Varric had latched onto the story, though. “But Ostagar wasn’t your first fight?”

Fenris saw Hawke’s eyebrow twitch down and her left shoulder hunch in, barely. It was a tiny tell, but he’d been watching her face for a couple of months, now. A slave’s habit, he knew, to gauge a master’s mood. But it had served him well in his travels and in battle to know how a person would react from a small change in their face. And now he had Hawke’s to watch. She was subtle and well-trained for someone yet so young. She knew how to let people see only what she wanted them to see, generally. It was…not a hardship, to have to watch close. 

Her head came up then and she flashed a brilliant smile, throwing him from his train of thought. 

“No, indeed, serah! That’s a different tale.” She flourished her mug. “Oh, no. I was a fresh girl of 16 for my first kill. Sweet indeed.” She winked over at Anders, who grinned back.

“Hmm.” She thought for a minute, as if gathering the memory to her. “Father liked a flagon of ale with his supper, now and again. So, Mother sent me off one afternoon while she finished lessons for the twins.” A smile for Bethany. “It was a fine spring day and to be honest, I’d never had much weather sense.” Which they knew to be true, too well. “I left my cloak and set out to town, flagon in one hand, coin in the other. A brand new dress and my braid over my shoulder.”

Fenris had a brief flash of her, long red braid and sweet face. Young. Innocent. From the smiles on Anders and Isabela, they could picture her, as well. 

“About halfway to town, though…” She paused dramatically and took a sip of her cider. It allowed her audience to formulate an idea of what might have happened and Fenris frowned to think of the possibilities and the harm that could befall a lone girl. From Aveline’s drawn brow, she followed him. Glancing around the table though, he saw Bethany’s eyes were wide and it was clear she’d never heard this story. 

“Where was I? Oh, yes. It started to rain. Just a cloud burst from a clear blue sky, flat out of nowhere. And me in my new, white chemise.” Isabela chortled at that and Hawke threw her a wicked grin. “But, Father would want his pint, and I thought I’d dry, so on I went to Barlin’s, oblivious to the world.” 

“Now, when I stepped into the tavern, it went a bit quiet, which was odd. I was no stranger.” She shrugged, “I was a bit shy,” Bethany giggled. “Hush you, I was a shy, sweet girl. Anyway, in my nerves, I fumbled my copper and it rolled right under the front table. With all the town, it seemed looking right at me.” 

“I wasn’t daunted, though. I dove right under the bench after, had to wiggle about on my knees to get at it and weave my hand past some legs.” She gave a little shimmy in her chair to illustrate, brushing against Fenris again. “But, I snagged it and up I popped, bright eyed and pink cheeked and breathing a bit hard. And then it happened.” BAM…she smacked the table and they all jumped. “Three men, dead at my feet.”

She cut her wicked eyes to the side and made a little moue of her mouth. “They were smiling, though. Must have died happy!”

Varric and Isabela practically roared with laughter and the rest of the room laughed with them, although it was Bethany’s flustered, “Oh, Sister!” that made Fenris smirk. 

Hawke stood and bowed low, with a flourish of her hands. “A dull tale, I’m sure. But, it’s made me thirsty. Next round on me, eh?” She left the still snickering band with a wave, but Varric had stopped laughing and Fenris caught a glimpse of concern in his stolid face. Aveline, too, seemed thoughtful as she watched Hawke leave the room.

A few minutes later, Norah came in with a tray. “Round on Serah Hawke. She said she’d see you all on the ‘morrow.” 

“Oh,” Bethany frowned. “I hadn’t thought to leave yet. Merrill and I were going to try and learn Wicked Grace again.” 

“We’ll see you home, Sunshine.” Varric smiled but he caught Fenris’ eye when the elf stood. 

“If there’s no business to discuss, I will go as well.” Fenris ignored Ander’s mocking huff of breath as he left the suite.

He wasn’t sure he could catch her, quick as she tended to move on her own. With twilight upon them, he knew Hawke would be hugging the shadows, ghosting along. He smiled to himself. A chance to try his skill, then. A clash of steel from the alley by the Ferelden shop drew his sharp hearing and he turned the corner. A familiar silhouette dragged a ragged masked body to drop him at the feet of an approaching guardsman. 

“A present for the new guard-Captain, Guardsman.”

“Thanks, Hawke. I’ll see he’s delivered.”

She slipped her hood up and stepped back out of the dim rushlight. He meant to catch up with her, but her whisper stopped him a few paces still out of sight. “No murder tonight. Could have killed him and didn’t.”

Intrigued, he continued to follow just out of her hearing, though Gamlen’s hovel was only a few paces away and she was clearly safe on her own. She was a curiosity to him. Deadly, yet kind. Open and yet unable to share a simple story from her past without...embellishment. Even more curious, he seemed unable to resist the chance to discover something else about her. 

Was she regretting the deaths of the past week? The child killer and the slavers. It seemed unlikely that she mourned them. He recalled a cold, cruel little smile on her face as she threw a knife. The way she had casually requested him to encourage one to talk and then the pleased look when the slaver had dropped at her feet. They had been simple deaths. They had come easily. Perhaps that then, that she had been happy to so effortlessly be the cause of their deaths. 

She was trotting up the steps to Gamlen’s now and he took the opportunity to pull his own hood over his head and settle into the alcove across from her landing. 

Instead of continuing into the building, Hawke paused and then dropped into a crouch. He thought he’d been seen, but she continued down to settle on her haunches, back against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her head against them. Silent and seemingly oblivious, she stared into the night, her face carefully blank. 

He stood guard for nearly an hour, before he heard the chime of Bethany’s laughter and Hawke stood gracefully to go inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually, we will get to spicier bits, I swear. These kids won't stop thinking.


End file.
